You just gotta be there...

It happened one February night almost exactly 17 years ago.

I remember being in the 15 passenger van, filled with eagerness at the destination, fear over whether or not we were going to even make it there alive in the blizzard, and nervousness that maybe I didn’t belong in that van in the first place.

When we finally arrived, over 2 hours past the event start time, our only choice was to sneak in and find seats in the very top section, also known as the nosebleed section.

I felt frustrated that we were so late, but also a wave of thankfulness swept through my body knowing that we really could have gotten stuck on the side of the road some place. The conditions outside were that bad.

The song the band was playing was familiar.  The band in our youth group played it many times on Wednesday nights.  I decided to just forget about how out of place I felt amongst all these youth group regulars and try to just enjoy the moment.  Because really the only reason I was there was because I thought it sounded fun and because my Sunday School teacher, who also happened to be a good friend of our family, had said it would be a good way to make some better friends with the other kids in the youth group…the kids who had all grown up together in youth group and all had already formed their groups of friends.

But somewhere through about the 4^th song, I noticed all the youth that were on their hands and knees on the stadium floor.  They were still singing the same songs but they had tears streaming down their faces.  They looked absolutely heartbroken. It was like collectively they had all just broken up with their boyfriends or girlfriends. 

I couldn’t understand how the songs we were singing produced that kind of emotion.  They were just songs for crying out loud.

I went back to my room quiet and pensive.  I still felt incredibly nervous about being there and especially about sleeping in the same room with a bunch of other girls I didn’t even know very well.    My only saving grace was that our room mom for the weekend was the mom of one of my sister’s good friends from school/church.   At least she wasn’t a stranger.

The next day produced similar results in my heart as I tried to process all I was seeing in the other students as well as all I was hearing from the speakers.  I was too shy to actually talk to someone about what I was feeling, but I remember asking our room mom a vague question to which she responded, “Well it is about a relationship with Christ.” 

A relationship.

What did that mean?  I had accepted Jesus in my heart and prayed the famous prayer.  I had asked him to forgive me of my sins.  I had been baptized. I had done all the things I was supposed to do.  Why wasn’t I crying?  Why didn’t I feel anything?  What had I “done” wrong.

A relationship.

And then during the last session, it all made sense.  Christ wanted a relationship with me.  He wanted a relationship with me!  He wanted to know me, and in turn, I was going to know Him as more than just my ticket to heaven. 

That is what those other youth I had seen the first night on their knees understood.  They had a relationship with Christ.  They were in a way heartbroken…just not over a boyfriend or girlfriend. 

As I went back to my room to pack up my things, I did feel changed inside.  I wouldn’t have been able to put it into words, and I certainly didn’t really understand the fullness of what God had shown me, but I felt changed. 

As I started out of the room with my bag, I realized I wasn’t wearing my cross necklace that my sweet grandma had given me for my birthday the year I was baptized.  I had worn that cross faithfully everyday since, but that day I felt like I finally wanted to wear it because of what it represented to me on the inside and not just as some show on the outside.  But when I went to grab it, I couldn’t find it.  I searched and searched, but it was nowhere to be found.

The longer I searched the more hysterical I felt.  I needed that cross.  I had to have it. I couldn’t leave without it.  But it was time to leave.  I was the last one to get on the bus. They were waiting on me.   My same sweet room mom promised me that she would keep looking. I am not sure if she had driven separately with her husband or was just in a different vehicle, but for whatever reason, she was going to be able to stay behind and keep looking. 

And she did stay behind.  And in a way that to my 15-year-old heart felt nothing short of miraculous, she found it. 

That weekend changed every single part of my life.   I know that at that time, while it did feel huge, I never understood its magnitude.  It wasn’t until several years later that I was able to look back on it and realize what great work God had done that weekend.

Then, three weeks ago something else happened.  Something that I have been thinking about nonstop but until this week, I couldn’t find the words to write about it.  It made me teary just thinking about it, but like that weekend 17 years ago, I couldn’t really process why until I stepped away from it.

Three weeks ago my home church from the states came to Guatemala.

While that may not seem all that grand to most, it was the culmination of 12 years of praying for me. 

I had seen team after team come through our ministry here in Guatemala.  I had hosted them, walked with them, prayed with them, led them, worked alongside of them, but never once I had I been able to do that with MY CHURCH.  MY PEOPLE.  MY HOME.

And then they came.  They finally came. 

It was all I hoped for and more.  It was amazing.  I didn’t want them to leave.

But of course all good things do come to an end eventually (here on earth anyway), so they did have to leave.  However, even after they were gone, I still couldn’t shake it.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

And while even today I am still not sure, I can properly put into words everything that it meant to me having them here, one thing I know to be certain.  It meant so much to me because this couple came. 

That is sweet Karen and her wonderful husband Don.

Karen was my room mother on that snowy, February weekend 17 years ago.  She was the one that whispered the words that changed my life.  She was the one that miraculously found the cross that meant so much to my 15-year-old heart.

And she was in Guatemala. 

We talked and laughed and shared in Guatemala.

Karen has a servant’s heart as it is.  I have seen her throughout the years pouring into the lives of many throughout my home church and my community back in the states.  But there is a little part of me that suspects that part of why she came to Guatemala is because of me.  I live here.

And it breaks me.

That sweet lady and her dear husband, whom I love just as equally, were a part of almost every major event through my youth.   I can’t remember the words to most of our conversations.  With the exception of that famous weekend, I can’t even remember most of the events surrounding our times together. 

But I remember that they were there.

Now as a 32-year-old missionary in Guatemala, I can also say, “They were there.”

They were there that first time my beloved home church stepped foot on Guatemala soil.

They were there the first time people from my home church ate in my home.

They were there to give hugs and kisses to all my new little friends here in Guatemala.

They were there when we inaugurated our new school building.

They were there.

And it breaks me because I realize that so many times it isn’t about the words we say or the events we plan or the lessons we teach. 

It’s just about being there. 

It’s about being a part of the big and the little. 

I get so discouraged sometimes in my ministry here because I feel like I am not making a bit of difference in these kids lives.  I feel like my words truly do go in their ears but never penetrate their hearts.  I go to bed feeling like I messed up more than I got it right.

But God used my sweet friend Karen to remind me that I just have to show up. I just have to be there.

God can use me just by being here.  I can be a vessel of comfort and love even if I don’t always say and do the right thing. 

I just have to show up.

Just show up.

You don’t have to be the best.  You don’t have to say the right thing.  You don’t always have to do the right thing.  But decide to be there.  Just be there. 

You have no idea what young girl or boy is going to be impacted just by you being there.   Just by you showing up.

So today show up.  Be there. 

You have no idea who might be watching and needing that reminder that someone cares enough to be there…to show up when they need them the most.

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Sitting out

Have you ever started something and once you were too far in to really get out, you realized that the whole thing was turning out to be WAY bigger than you thought it was going to be?

I can honestly say that I really had never experienced something like that until this year.  I mean sure I had projects in college that ended up taking way more time than I thought they would or other small circumstances that ended up being hard than I had first imagined, but really for the most part my perfectionist personality kept me relatively safe from situations like that.

I am one of those people that like to fully evaluate my success and/or the outcome before jumping into things.  I don’t like failure.  And I don’t like to quit.  So in order to keep myself from having to fail or quit, I just don’t do it.  

I am by no means marketing this method.  It has kept me on the sidelines way too many times to count.  I end up watching instead of experiencing far too often. 

So please don’t let me be your teacher.

But, the times are changing even for me.

Last month I decided to undertake something in which I wasn’t sure I would actually be successful.  I decided it was time to do something about my health…lose weight, eat right, get healthy.  I knew it was going to be hard. I knew I would struggle.

You want the truth, though?

Deep down, I really did think I was going to rock it.  I knew I would struggle a bit in the beginning to find my groove, but I really believed that I was going to be able to whip this body of mine into shape in no time.  I truly thought that once those initials cravings subsided, I would even enjoy the whole healthy eating part.

How wrong I was.

This journey has been one of the most mentality and spiritually challenging things I have ever done.  In some ways, I can even say I have felt it has started consuming my life.

Now before you all start worrying about my mental stability, hear me out.

I know that at the end of the day my worth is not based on the size of my pants. I really do get that, even if at times I struggle with making that my reality.  I know that Sara is worth it because God says she is…not whether or not I am pretty enough to be on the front of a magazine.  

That being said, though, for the first time in my life, I am embarking on something that on many occasions and even days makes me feel like a failure.  And that is hard. 

On Friday, I got weighed again.  The week before last I was down 5 lbs since I started and had lost 1.5% body fat and gained 1% muscle.  That was a little over three weeks since I had started.  Then this past week, my counselor weighed me and measured me.  

Guess what…I gained weight! WHAT! Yes, I had actually gained. Sure I had lost a total of 19 cm throughout my body (chest, arms, waist, legs, etc.).  But, I GAINED WEIGHED!

Heck no!

I was so upset.  Devastated really.

How was it that I had been working my butt off…exercising 4 to 5 times a week, really trying to watch EVERY SINGLE MORSEL of food that went into my mouth and I gained.  It was only a slight gain but a gain nonetheless.

No freaking way!

Yesterday we took the kids to the mall.  Hubby had to run an errand there, and the kids really like playing in their playground area.  We decided it would be cheaper and easier to take the kids up to the food court for lunch.  They like it and it was cheaper than a sit down restaurant.   The kids were easy and soon enough Hubby was at the table with their food and his and everyone was chowing down.  I, however, walked around in a circle for at least 15 minutes trying to figure out what to eat.  I knew what I wanted to eat…but I also knew what I should eat.  All I could think about was the scale used to weigh me the day before.

So I just kept walking in circles…trying not to cry and trying even harder not to be angry at all the skinny folks sitting at those tables gorging themselves on the sweet, deliciousness of pizza and tacos and hamburgers.  I tried to hold my breath as the mouth-watering aroma from Cinnabon filled the area.  

Here’s the thing, I knew I could just go up to the counter, order whatever I wanted, eaten it and moved on.  It was one meal anyway. It wasn’t the end of the world.   Hello at least I had food to eat.  Can we say “first world problems” anyone?

But, it was so much deeper than that for me.  And it still is today.

I know that my life lacks discipline.  I know that I am too easily enticed by things that feel good, taste good, are easy, etc.  My flesh wants to surround itself by things that are easy and fun and make me feel good and make me happy.  

I, one hundred percent, believe that food and life and everything else should be enjoyed!  Of course this is true!  I know that God wants us to rejoice in his creation and in this beautiful life that we get the privilege of living.  I am not arguing that point at all.  

But I do think that there is a fine line between filling our lives only with things that make us feel good and learning that sometimes we have to practice self-control, discipline, etc.  

There will be red velvet cake again in my future.  There will be pizza and pasta.  I even plan on eating at what some would say is the most disgusting fast food place on this earth, Taco Bell again.  I don’t feel like God is asking me to give all of those things up forever and always.  

No, it isn’t about what I will never have.  

It is actually about what I can have.

Discipline.

Self-control.

Power.

And even joy.

Finding joy in saying no sometimes.

And also finding joy in saying yes.  Yes to things that are hard and scary and seemingly impossible.  

I don’t want to sit on the sidelines of my own life.

I don’t want to say no just because I think I might fail.

I want to learn to GET.BACK.UP!

This is so not easy.  It is so hard.  And mostly I hate every second of having to be around others enjoying food that I also love to eat.  I hate having to say no more often than yes. 

But I am going to keep going because it matters too much to stop.  I am not even talking about the health repercussions of being overweight and unhealthy.  I would keep going even taking that out of the equation.

Because for the first time in my life, I want to find success at something not because it was easy or because I was naturally gifted.  I want to find the victory fighting every step of the way.  I want to find the beauty in the fight and in the struggle.   

Easy doesn’t make character.

Easy only makes the hard that much scarier.

Look around you.  I bet your life is filled with so many just sitting on the sidelines for fear of what is going to happen if they actually get up and play.  

God cannot use us on the sidelines.  We are of no use as spectators.  

God wants players.  

This world needs players.  People willing to do things that are hard…that hurt…that require sacrifice and/or discipline.  

Don’t just take my word for it.  Ask any famous athlete or musician or really any “great.” Ask them if that win or that symphony or that moment would have been as great if they were just sitting on the side.  Sure maybe they were a part of the team or a part of the group but without having participated, I am certain that the moment of “victory” was greatly reduced for them.  The thrill can never be the same for the spectator as it is for the participant. It just isn’t possible. 

We weren’t meant to sit on the sidelines, folks.  

I only have one life, and I, for one, refuse to spend it watching.

[Side note: For any of you that do know a lot about exercising and eating right, if you could give me any advice as to why in the world I gained after working my butt off last week, I would greatly appreciate your help. I was not perfect everyday, but I know that I did not eat enough to warrant a weight gain...and I worked out 5 days last week.  So like I said, if you could offer any tips and/or advice, that would be lovely.]

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Grace.Cheer.Discipline.

I am about three weeks into my working out/dieting (aka Curves) journey.  It hasn’t exactly been a cake walk but then again it hasn’t been quite as hard as I thought it would be either.

The exercise part rocks.   I love being active.  Granted I have had a few mornings that I woke up feeling like a 90 year old lady.  I have bones that are seriously creaking.  But, my body loves it.  And I love it.  I love sweating and moving and pushing myself.  I don’t love sitting in traffic every morning, and there are definitely days that I wish I could just have a lazy morning with coffee and my pjs, but I know it is worth it.  My once athletic frame is thanking me for getting my rear back in gear.  

I HATE the dieting part.  I mean I really and truly hate it.  It takes so much energy and will power and money and TIME.  Who know eating healthy would take that much work.  But it does.  I have dreamed about food more nights than I can count.  I have not eaten a piece of dessert since I started, but the craving is still as intense as the first day…maybe even more so.   I can handle the eating healthy part for my meals. I love to cook and I really enjoy eating a variety of veggies.  I am a little tired of chicken but the red meat variety is very slim down here and most of it loaded with lots of fat, so chicken it is.  

But I WANT CAKE! Or PIE! Or COOKIES!  I want…no I NEED something sweet.

That sugar addiction thing is real folks. It is very, very real.

 (This picture has been my motivation for no cake, cookie, and pie eating.  Even though it was my wedding day, it was also the time in my life that I was probably the healthiest I have ever been. I didn't just drop a bunch of weight for my wedding. I was living a healthy and active lifestyle.)

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Yesterday I had my meeting with my “counselor” so to speak.  She weighs me, checks my fat and muscle percentages, measures me, etc.  Then we talk about how the week went…what was hard, easy, etc.  

You will never believe what happened…or maybe you will.

I cried.  AGAIN!  Geez Louise, you’d think I would be over the water works by now.  Oh but they were fresh and fierce.

The thing is I can be sarcastic about this and laugh and make jokes, but the truth is this process I am going through is very real.  It is about SO much more than just losing the extra pounds and getting my body healthy again.  This is me stripping down, getting real with myself and others, and learning a little more self-discipline.  This is me trying to stop making excuses and actually putting something into action. 

This is me saying enough is enough…no more.  No more excuses.  No more justifications.  No more I can’t do this or it is too hard.

But there I was yesterday, saying all those things.  I can’t do this anymore. It is too hard.  Food is consuming my life.  Because hello it isn’t just me.  I also have to cook for my mother in law who just had her gallbladder removed and is on an extremely strict diet.  Then I also have my three kids (ages 9, 4, and 1) who aren’t that adventurous of eaters and who operate under the pretense of weird looking or smelling things must also taste weird so let’s just avoid those things all together, and when Mommy actually makes us eat it, let’s act like she is killing us.  Yes that really happens around here. And finally, I have my hubby who although is not a junk eater isn’t really down with couscous and chicken breast with a side of steamed veggies all the time.  Oh and he also asks me almost on a daily basis if there are any cookies or pieces of cake he can have with his after lunch coffee. 

 

So yeah the diet part is stressing me out. 

I was there begging her…with tears…to let me out of my contract of the diet portion.  I would continue to try and eat healthy but the bounds of trying to follow that strict eating and cooking schedule were too much.  And please oh please could I just pay a fine and get out of it.

Pretty much, no, I can’t just pay a fine and get out of it.  A contract is a contract.  (Or so they say anyway)

So I went to the bathroom, wiped my tears, washed my hands and started my workout.   I had maybe one of my best workouts yet.  All that pent up emotion came spilling over into my exercise and I was pushing myself even harder.  There was my sweet counselor too by my side as I worked out telling me to go harder, one more time, faster, etc.  She was pushing me and that made me stronger.

On my way out, she also had printed off 15 color pages of some tips that would help me with the cooking, dieting aspect of this.  I am not going to go into detail of everything on those pages, but let’s just say they were very helpful, and it was something she didn’t have to do for me.

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Why do I share all of this?  Because God is teaching me some valuable lessons on this journey, and I think they are lessons that can spill over into real life too.

1.  Grace.

We need to not only practice showing grace to others but we need to practice showing it to ourselves.  We aren’t perfect.  Yes we need to push ourselves. We need to strive to do our best.  We need to work hard.  But, we have to leave room for grace.  There are no perfect moms or dads...wives or husbands…bodies or faces.  We are imperfect people living in an imperfect world, trying to be a light in the darkness.  We are going to mess up.  We aren’t going to get it right every time.  We need to show ourselves enough grace to be able to pick ourselves back up, dust ourselves off, and just keep right on going. 

 

2. Cheer

Although I was never a cheerleader in high school (I would have made the worst one ever), I want to be a cheerleader in real life. I want to come alongside of those God has placed in my life and cheer them along.  It doesn’t matter where they are going or what they are doing. I want to be someone that is telling them to keep going, press harder, don’t give up, don’t give in, you can do it.  Much like my counselor did for me yesterday, I want to have compassion and see that sometimes those around me need more of me than I, at times, am naturally inclined to give.  

Coincidentally, I was reading in 1 Samuel yesterday as well.  I have been studying again the life of David.  It always fascinates me that although David was far from perfect, he was a man of perseverance.   Yesterday my reading took me to Saul’s pursuit for David’s life.  Saul was a man with one goal: kill David.  David was spending his days on the run. He was hiding out in temples, caves, different cities. In almost every one of those hiding places, God sent someone to David to encourage him.  The first time David was encouraged by the priest and his gift to David of Goliath’s sword.  It was a reminder of what God had already done once with David…using him to defeat the undefeatable.  Then later while hiding in a cave, God sent David’s family to him.  A time later after David was pushed out of the city he had just defended, God sent him his best friend Jonathon.  Over and over again, I could see God reminding David that he wasn’t alone, to keep pressing on, to not give up or give in.  He was sending David his own set of cheerleaders.  

I want to be a part of the cheerleading squad for my family and friends.  Life is hard enough as it is.  I don’t want to do it alone, and I don’t want those around me to have to do it alone either. 

3. Discipline (or Self-Control)

At the end of the day, this is a fruit of the spirit for a reason.  Look at any example of a mighty person in the faith, a mighty warrior, or even in the secular world, any person of great success, and I am certain you will find this trait in them.  We can’t get anywhere without it.  We will always give up. We will always give in.  We will be mediocre.  

For me personally, mediocre is the very last place I want to be. I would rather be at the very bottom than just kind of stuffed in the middle.  I don’t want to do things half way.  I don’t want to just scrap by.  

Of all the “greats” in my own life, not a single one of them could be labeled as mediocre.  Nobody remembers the mediocre.  I am sorry but it is the truth. 

Obviously, it isn’t about me. I don’t want to be great for me.  I want to be great for HIM.  I want my life to have a great and lastly impact on my family, on my friends, and on my generation. I don’t want to be another person taking up space, breathing the air but not adding or contributing in any way. 

I can’t do this without discipline. 

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So for now I just keep taking another step.  I am not going to be perfect. I will fail at times.  But, I won’t give up. I CAN”T give up. 

Grace. Cheer. Discipline.

Let’s keep on, keepin’ on.  Whose with me?

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